


Such a good doll

by embeer2004



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Abuse, Cock milking, Cunnilingus, F/M, Geralt Whump, Geralt thinks they're in a loving relationship, Mind Control, No Aftercare, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Rescue, Rose of Remembrance, Triss thinks they're in a loving relationship, a start at least, bad BDSM practices, dimeritium cuffs, harvesting sperm, it is NOT a loving relationship, magical coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29108280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embeer2004/pseuds/embeer2004
Summary: What if Geralthaddecided to give up the hunt for the kingslayer and leave everything behind when Triss asked?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Triss Merigold
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39
Collections: A Witcher Wheel of the Year 2021





	Such a good doll

**Author's Note:**

> This story if for the [ witcher wheel of the year](https://witcherwheeloftheyear.tumblr.com/post/638309199461466112/witcher-wheel-of-the-year-is-a-series-of-events) imbolc festival, a fill for ‘doll’; I’m also filling the prompt on the witcher kinkmeme for [Geralt: cum harvesting/captivity](https://thewitcherkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/365.html?thread=31853#cmt31853).
> 
> This is a divergence happening at a certain point during the Witcher 2 game, and the story starts with some fragmented flashbacks before settling to Geralt’s present.
> 
> *PLEASE READ AND MIND THE TAGS*  
> This is my take on Triss, and she is – in my opinion – a dark character dressed up in a nice and cute cover, and I really do see her going this way if the events in Witcher 2 hadn’t forced Geralt to choose either Iorveth or Roche. For more of my thoughts on that – see point (4) in the endnotes.

* * *

**_Flotsam  
_ ** _  
“So beautiful…”  
  
“According to legend, it should never wilt. Not even if you pluck a petal or two.”  
  
“Just what is going on in that head of yours, witcher?”  
  
The elven baths were truly beautiful. **Triss** was beautiful.  
  
His body hummed pleasantly after their lovemaking. This was just perfect.   
  
She picked up his medallion and brought it to her lips, pressing a light kiss against the wolf’s head. His skin tingled and he shivered as she cupped his cheek.  
  
He turned his face into her palm and closed his eyes, revelling in her warm touch. He wished this moment could last forever…  
  
Her soft lips pressed against his own, and he flicked out his tongue, tasting her rose-like velvety soft lips. She was so tender with him, so gentle. She had this sensitivity about her that only elves perhaps were able to emulate.  
  
She smiled as she rose above him, looking magnificent and playful as she lovingly wiped at his lips before leaning closer and kissing him again.  
  
He felt… **wonderful**. Like his mind was wrapped in cotton, all warm and fluffy and soft…  
  
“I’m prepared to travel to the end of the world with you to save Yennefer. I owe you that. I owe her that… I’m prepared to drop everything – the trappings of court life, politics, the regicides… I could even live at Kaer Morhen. It’s up to you.”  
  
“Triss…” Oh, but how he loved this woman.  
  
**What about Yen?  
**  
“Let me finish, I can only say this once. If you want to go alone, I’ll understand… and I won’t try to persuade you otherwise.”  
  
She sounded so wistful… “I can’t know what the future holds. I don’t know what else is hidden in my mind. But whatever it is, whatever happens, I don’t want to lose you. I’d have to be an utter fool and complete ingrate to let you go.”  
  
She laughed, shyly. Hopeful. “That’s kind, thank you… Does that mean we’re leaving the regicides to Roche and tending to our own matters?”  
  
He pulled her close against him and nuzzled her hair, enjoying the feel of her. “Yes… let them handle this sordid mess. We have no obligations towards them, or the world.”  
  
**What about Ciri?**  
  
Slender fingers picked up his medallion. “Thank you, Geralt…” Triss pressed her other hand right over his heart, and a pleasant warmth spread through his chest at her words. “We could go to Kovir? Far, far away from all of this…”  
  
“Yes. Let’s go to Kovir.”  
  
_

* * *

**  
Pont Vanis**  
  
_It was funny how some wishes came true_ , Geralt mused, staring out the window. Two children were rolling a ball of snow around, making it larger and larger until they seemed satisfied with the size, and then they started rolling another ball.  
  
They’d done it; after making sure that Dandelion and Zoltan were free to leave Flotsam, Triss had conjured up a portal, and they’d left that whole sordid mess behind.  
  
Their arrival in Pont Vanis had been… not so pleasant, actually. He hated portals, he really, really did, and he still shuddered, remembering the way he’d fallen to his knees straight out of the magical gateway. His arm and leg had been buzzing sharply, a bit like they ached when the weather turned, only more intense. Way more. His gut had roiled nauseatingly, and he’d been hunched over, dry heaving for so long that Triss had gotten worried.   
  
Once he’d recovered some, they’d gone off to meet Moritz Diefenthel, an old acquaintance of Triss. The sorcerer had offered them a place to stay until they found suitable lodgings – which they had, only a few days later.  
  
Apparently King Tancred had been made aware of their arrival, and – not caring about the goings on in Temeria or Redania, and the rumours flying wild about Triss and Geralt – had asked Triss to become his court advisor. She’d accepted his offer.  
  
Geralt had been a bit concerned about Triss diving back into politics – after all, hadn’t they decided to leave all of that behind them? But Triss had reassured him that she was ready, and that ultimately this position was something she’d always dreamed of. She’d been more worried about him; it was a big deal, after all, resettling to a permanent home.  
  
The two children finished their snow-doll and started dancing and skipping around it; their high pitched voices more squealing than singing one of the merry carols he’d been hearing throughout the week.  
  
Especially the last few days, citizens of Pont Vanis had been busy preparing for the upcoming imbolc festivities. Today, they’d started working on creating a Brídeóg of rushes and reeds on the market square. When Geralt had seen it earlier today the doll-like figure had looked more like a scarecrow than a deity, but tomorrow the Brídeóg would be dressed up in a pretty fabric, and all throughout the day the younger girls of Pont Vanis would be allowed to put necklaces and bracelets with snowdrops and shells around the doll’s neck and wrists. They’d dance and sing and offer food and milk to the Brídeóg, doing their best to please the deity responsible for bringing spring back into the world.  
  
Sighing, he leaned against the window, wiping at the glass as it fogged up from his breath. Spring would come, Brídeóg or no, but he understood that humans and the other races found traditions and celebrations important. Seeing people working together like this, _peace_ … it was pleasant, actually.  
  
He still didn’t remember much of before, but his experiences since going after Salamandra had shown him enough of the world – the people in it – to make him understand how he and his fellow witchers were perceived. Vesemir had told him witchers had the sole purpose of protecting others, that they were created and trained specifically for this purpose, and he’d felt proud at being a part of that.  
  
But villagers had spat at his feet as he passed, and others had shot him baleful glances, and the calls and whispers made it all too clear that his presence was not wanted…  
  
_“A witcher, hide your women!”  
  
“Your kind does not belong here!”  
_  
And these were the same people that, a day later, would beg him to take care of their problems: drowners, fleders, alghouls… He was good enough for them then. Their saviour.  
  
_“Oh, I’m so sorry, I don’t have any money.”  
  
“Please, don’t take my child!”  
  
_Lambert had told him that he should _never_ accept anything below a hundred orens for a contract. If anyone was to offer him a silver penny for a nest of drowners, or even _dare_ to offer him catnip he was to walk away.  
  
And piss on their boots.  
  
Geralt had learnt on his own to demand at least half the agreed upon price in advance, or to size up other valuables he would take if the contract giver didn’t hold up their end of the deal. He’d also become a bit picky on which contracts to take after the whole rotten business with The Beast and the barghests…  
  
_“Had you known this before, would you have done things differently?”_  
  
Here in Kovir, things were different – the _people_ were different, and he received a fair amount of bizants for his work. The problem he now faced, though, was that there simply wasn’t enough work for a witcher in or around Pont Vanis. Not anymore; he’d been thorough. Soon, he’d have to seek contracts farther away from the city, but he didn’t want to be away from Triss for too long.  
  
Perhaps he could try for a human job?  
  
The children had stopped dancing around their snow-doll and were now lying flat on the ground, moving their arms up and down and their legs from side to side.  
  
_“Come on, Geralt. Let’s make snow angels!”_  
  
_Who was that?_ Frowning, he tried to bring up more of the memory. It had been a girl’s voice…  
  
He startled as arms wrapped around him, and something pressed against his shoulder. The smell of roses and cherry blossoms immediately made him smile, and he turned his head so he could press a soft kiss to his lover’s cheek.  
  
“Don’t you just love it?” Triss nuzzled her cheek against his and wrapped her arms tighter around him.  
  
“Hmm?” He pressed his hands over hers and interlaced their fingers.  
  
Triss’ breath tickled his ear as she sighed dreamily. “The people, the ribbons, the bonfires…” She squeezed his fingers and lay her head on his shoulder. “Celebrations in Temeria focus on different aspects to welcome spring back into the world than here in Kovir. It’s so interesting to see all the various customs.”  
  
“Hmm.” Looking out the window, Geralt watched as the children picked themselves up from the ground and patted the snow-doll before walking away.  
  
It _was_ interesting to see the merry hustle and bustle as people prepared for imbolc. He’d found some books on Kovir and Poviss, telling of the history and cultures of the region, but reading about it was different than actually _experiencing_ the festivities.  
  
_Alvin would have loved it here…  
_  
“At Kaer Morhen, did you-?” Triss broke off abruptly and lifted her head away from his shoulder, looking away with a blush and a small wince.  
  
He rubbed the heel of his hand over his brow and grimaced at the sudden tight feel.  
  
Triss’ palm cupped his cheek, and a gentle pressure turned his face towards her.  
  
He smiled into the kiss and closed his eyes, feeling safe and loved in Triss’ hold. His senses buzzed, and his cheek tingled with the warmth of her touch. He turned all the way so he could wrap his own arms around her, burying his nose in her hair and pressing a kiss beneath her ear. “Love you.” He held on for a bit longer until a hand pressed against his chest, gently pushing him away, and he could see her beautiful eyes twinkling as she looked up at him.  
  
“Thank you,” she breathed, one of her delicate hands tucking some white strands that had escaped his raftman’s do behind his ear, before lowering to his chest – tracing lazy circles. She sighed and looked up at him again, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.  
  
“Rough day?” He reached up and stroked her lip with his thumb, trying to wipe away her worry.  
  
Triss nodded and leaned into his touch. “Court life’s hectic; Tancred’s court is no different than Foltest’s in that regard. There’s talk of Radovid-” she broke off, her shoulders slumping.  
  
He didn’t like the way the light disappeared from her eyes, so he drew Triss closer to him and cupped the back of her neck, drawing soothing circles there with his thumb.  
  
The way she seemed to melt against him and the tension left her shoulders was a step in the right direction.  
  
The giggle as he stroked her back was another, but then Triss sighed wistfully and rested her cheek against his shoulder. “Can we just… I mean, if you’re all right with it… Could we just let the world be the world until tomorrow? I’d… I’d like it very much if we could play a bit? There’s something I’d like to try…”  
  
His breath stuttered in his throat, and it felt like he’d been out in the snow too long; his limbs all stiff and tight. He couldn’t _move._  
  
_“Control yourself! A witcher who’s not in control of himself is a **dead** witcher.”  
  
Vesemir?  
  
_He found himself willing his body to relax, trying to _breathe_ again and to get rid of the dizzying pounding in his ears…  
  
“… imbolc is supposed to be the perfect time for it, so what do you say?” Triss grinned up at him and lifted his medallion into her hand, pressing her other hand against his chest, right over his heart. “Geralt?”  
  
Geralt confidently reached out towards Triss and ran his fingers through her auburn locks. “Beautiful…” He kissed her jaw. “Kind…” He pressed another kiss to her neck, and then he would…  
  
“Geralt?” She repeated, pushing him away lightly and tilting her head in question. “Do you want to try it?” Her hips rocked with a gentle motion, and a hesitant smile tugged at one corner of her lips. She looked adorable like this, and Geralt knew that if he said ‘yes’, she’d light up and give him that particular smile, especially reserved for him.  
  
“Anything for you.” He ducked his head to press another kiss to her lips, lingering there in a silent request for her to open up so he could explore…  
  
Triss bit his lip, making him flinch, and cupped his head between her hands before slowly twirling them both around. Lifting one of her eyebrows as she smiled at him, she took a step backwards, towards their bedroom. “Oh, I have other plans for that sweet tongue of yours, witcher,” Triss promised, taking another step and curling her finger, beckoning him to follow.  
  
He followed.  
  
When they stood in front of their four-poster bed Triss turned and walked around him in a way that reminded Geralt of one of those slow and seductive courtly dances he’d seen at Vizima palace as she lit the candles with a wave of her hand. Moving in, and out, lift your hand and swirl… now _bow._  
  
_Lambert, wearing a dark red dress with golden patterns, curtsied and held up his hand towards… Eskel? Who was impeccably dressed in a dark orange shirt and black trousers with red stripes. He bowed and reached for Lambert’s hand…  
  
_Geralt closed his eyes, smelling vanilla and cinnamon. When was this? Eskel’s face had been unblemished by scars still, but _when_ …? He clung to the memory of those scents, wishing to see more…  
  
There was a light tugging on his tunic and he opened his eyes as Triss’ hands slithered under the material, moving over his belly and chest, stroking along his collar bones to his shoulders. Obediently, he lifted his arms and moved with her, allowing her to pull the tunic up and over his head before letting it drop to the floor.  
  
Triss winked at him and reached up towards her hair to take out the pin holding her bun in place.  
  
“Please,” he whispered, reaching up with his hand and, upon Triss’ approving nod, took out the pin for her. He loved the moment when her hair fell loose, bouncing slightly as it settled into place, and he wished that she would redo her hair so he could pull out the pin again and watch her hair bounce once more.  
  
A silly thought, really…  
  
_“If our bodies could a song compose.”_  
  
Triss’ hands came up, cupping his pectorals and giving them a firm squeeze, making Geralt shift a bit at the sensation. Reaching out to her, he caressed her cheeks and then moved his hands lower… over her long neck and down over the velvety material of her dress. His hands paused over her breasts, and he gently cupped them, finding the pressure he knew she liked.  
  
_“My heart would enquire of your hands pale and fine.”  
  
_Seeing the way Triss’ cheeks flushed with colour he knew she loved what he was doing, so he was surprised when she grasped his wrists and pulled his hands away from her body.  
  
He shouldn’t have been surprised, though. Triss had said she wanted to play…  
  
Lifting up one finger – _stay_ – Triss moved to the bedside drawer and picked up two sets of dimeritium cuffs.  
  
The pounding was back, this time accompanied by a high-pitched shrill ringing as the air seemed to inflict a thousand icy cuts. The world turned dark for a moment, and when it returned to normal Triss had moved to the head of the bed.  
  
“Come lie down. Arms up,” she ordered, lightly scratching her nails over the intricate wooden bed post next to her.  
  
_“If they'd grasp it gently…”_  
  
Doing as he was told, Geralt closed his eyes the moment he felt one of the dimeritium cuffs locking into place, and he moved with Triss to let her attach the cuff to the bed post. Then the whole thing was repeated with his other arm, and Geralt found himself lying spread like a pinned moth, his arms dangling just above the mattress as Triss had fastened the cuffs on the second decorative bulb.  
  
He felt incredibly vulnerable like this… The sour burn of the cuffs only emphasised the fact that he had no way to reach his magic… and from his earlier experiences he knew that he had no leverage whatsoever; he would be unable to pull out off the cuffs, nor could destroy the posts.  
  
Bound as he was, his lot was truly, fully, in Triss’ hands.  
_  
“… to hold like a rose.”_  
  
Opening his eyes, he watched as Triss’ gaze roved over his body, lingering on the taut muscles as he was stretched between the posts. Her eyes had grown darker with lust, and a rosy shine had settled on her cheeks; that shine she also got when she was just slightly tipsy and feeling all loose and relaxed… or _aroused_.  
  
She loved seeing him like this…  
  
He wished to tell her she looked beautiful, wished to reassure her that he was hers, but the play had started and he knew he wasn’t supposed to speak.  
  
He wanted to be good for her.  
  
Standing up, Triss’ eyes met his own and then she slowly moved her hands across her body, conjuring away her dress and revealing the shapes Geralt had grown so fond of.  
  
Oh, how he wished she had ordered him to take it off of her so he could caress the pleasant material as it still clung to her body… moving it down over her waist and over her legs until he’d guided it all the way to the floor. Kneeling at her feet, he would nuzzle into her and kiss her gently. He wanted her to stroke through his hair and reward him with gentle touches for being so good…  
  
The sight before him as she climbed on top of him, straddling his waist in all her naked glory, was another kind of reward. And it was torture.  
  
His wrist stung as he tried to touch her.  
  
“Oh, doll…” Triss tutted, leaning forward so her breasts pressed against his chest. She lazily sucked on his lower lip and pressed warningly on his arm.  
  
_Don’t move.  
  
_Releasing his lip, Triss kissed the underside of his jaw, then started nibbling at the soft flesh, biting and sucking bruises that would be gone before morn even as her hand roved down, towards the leather trousers he still wore.   
_  
“Or treat is as a morsel upon which to dine.”_ _  
_  
Geralt tried to stay still for Triss, even though he didn’t like the stinging ache, or the tingling burn, that was left behind with each new bruise. But what right did he have, a witcher, to complain over a little discomfort? Especially when marking him this way brought such joy to the woman he loved?  
  
“Good boy,” Triss crooned before sliding down, grinding herself against his leather codpiece even as she stroked his nipples, awakening an _urge_ inside of him.  
  
Unconsciously, Geralt thrust up, but Triss pulled away and sat backwards; her weight fully resting on his thighs, forcing his hips down. He pulled against the cuffs, his mind blanking out, screaming for _more_ … He wanted to feel her against him. Wanted to touch her… hold her…  
  
Triss pressed on his arms, a reminder and a warning. “Hush now. This is going to be such a treat… for both of us,” she murmured at him.  
  
Geralt felt like he was breathing molasses, but nodded anyway.  
  
This was how it was supposed to be. He could let go now, entrust himself to her – _fully_. Triss would take care of him.  
  
“Very good,” Triss hummed, tugging on the bows keeping his codpiece fastened until they’d come loose. Then she gently pushed the flap down and tugged on his braies, frowning – _was that disappointment?_ – at what she found.  
  
Geralt opened his mouth, only to remember just in time that he wasn’t supposed to talk. Lifting his head as much as he could, he glimpsed down, and took in his still soft state.  
  
Ah… Triss would take care of that, though. He wondered if she would touch him gently, just the way he liked, but Geralt wasn’t always too sure of the rules during their times of play.  
  
Sometimes, Triss preferred to use magic to get his interest roused, and from there on took him again and again until she had her release as many times as she wished.  
  
He smiled, remembering the time she had ridden him for _hours_ … His dick had been sore for a day after that, but seeing her all happily blissed out had certainly been worth it.  
  
Grinning coyly, Triss hooked her thumbs into his waistband and tugged, sliding off both his leather trousers and his braies in one go, down to his ankles and no farther, before re-settling herself on his thighs. “I love this so much.” She lifted his still soft cock in her hand and gave it a rough stroke, even as her other hand pressed against his cheek.  
  
Her touch was so nice and warm… like a fire on a winter’s night. Geralt closed his eyes, feeling the world spinning a bit, like he’d had too much to drink. Breathing in deeply, he opened his eyes again and looked at Triss… and blinked at the curious sight. He blinked again, but Triss’ body remained wrapped in a shimmering haze; her face the only part that remained clear.  
  
Squinting, he frowned as he thought he could make out what seemed to be quite a large scar covering most of Triss’ chest. Then she leaned over him; gently stroking his brow and cupping his medallion in her palm, and he forgot all about the world. There was just her touch… her smell…  
  
Just _her_ …  
  
Her hands, first stroking, then pinching… her lips, pressing soft kisses on his nipples before the softness was replaced by the sting of sharp teeth. Soft, then sharp… the sensations were driving him mad from pleasure and pain. When Triss’ hands reached for his cock his hips jerked up and he kicked his legs, and Triss hissed with displeasure and circled her fingers around his balls, tugging sharply.  
  
The sting was enough to bring tears to his eyes, and Geralt breathed in through his nose as he tried to deal with the pain.  
  
“You always respond so delightfully,” Triss murmured as she tipped his chin up, making him look at her. Her fingers were still curled around him, pulling on his balls with a firm grip. “But you drifted a bit too far, witcher. If we’re to collect all, you’ll need to hold on for a bit longer. Remember? For imbolc?”  
  
Feeling fuzzy, he tried to remember what he’d agreed to, but even as his senses slowly returned he couldn’t recall. By now it was way too late to ask Triss. The blush on her cheeks had only darkened, and the way her chest heaved as she grinded herself against one of his thighs spoke of unabashed excitement he was sure she would not loose hold of now.  
  
He should just ask her, but…  
  
He wanted to be _good_ for her. Triss had asked him if he’d wanted this and he’d said ‘yes’. He couldn’t back out now, and he trusted her. The way she had prevented him from spoiling their play was just additional proof that he was in good hands.  
  
Forcing his body to unclench, he nodded, and he felt something light tugging at his heart as she smiled at him and patted his belly.  
  
“Imbolc,” Triss started, letting go of her tight grip on his balls and transforming her grip to a loving, tender one. Geralt’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as her thumb kept up a smooth stroke. “To welcome spring into our midst and watch as the world covered in frost dies. Reborn it shall be in the new sun, and days will turn longer, and seeds that have been sown will sprout and bring new life…” Her other hand wrapped around his half-softened cock, intent on bringing him back to full hardness. “And other seeds will not sprout but burst into flame…” Nails scratched at his skin, and it felt like _he_ was on fire.  
  
As his muscles seized, Geralt pressed his head deeply into the mattress, wishing for an anchor to ground him against the blazing inferno that had become his lover’s touch.  
  
Something cool was pressed against his overly-sensitive tip, and he clenched his muscles, feeling a pressure rising in his belly before his whole body shuddered with his release, awakening a fire in his shoulders as he pulled against the cuffs.  
  
Eyes closed, trying to breathe through the shudders and to just _calm down_ , Geralt listened to Triss’ excited breaths, and he was finally given an anchor in the form of her fingers, moving gently over his now limp cock. She rubbed little circles into his skin, drifting lower and lower until she’d reached his base, and then she pulled lightly on his balls, holding on even as she slipped what felt like two fingers of her other hand inside him, coated heavily in slick.  
  
He gasped and then immediately whimpered as she curled her fingers, causing his body to twitch like a puppet with its strings all tangled up, making him pull on his wrists and bring back the fire anew.  
  
“Ah, there you are…”  
  
He was determined to lie still, even as she let go of his balls and gently grasped his half-hardened cock before she started stroking slowly up and down. The fingers inside of him pushed and curled, again and again, against that sensitive spot.  
  
Up to his tip and then down, fingers light with just the exact pressure he needed; Triss knew all the ways to get his body quickly on edge. His cock pulsed in her grip, and Geralt already prepared himself to lie as still as possible as she brought him to his next release.  
  
His body clenched. His muscles quivered.  
  
Triss’ hands stilled.  
  
Shuddering, he whined and pressed his head even deeper into the mattress. His legs twitched, and his belly cramped, but it was not enough. He needed _more_. More of her touch. He was only _one_ stroke away from his release, he just _knew_ it.  
  
Triss didn’t move for what felt like _forever_ , and when she finally did, he hissed as the fingers inside of him pressed _hard_ even as she gripped his base tightly. He wriggled, trying to move the fingers inside of him just the tiniest bit to the side and – _yessss_ …  
  
His mouth grew dry as his breathing sped up, and then the familiar pressure was back in his lower belly and the coolness returned to his pounding cock-head as he came again. He remembered to keep still this time, which was an absolute challenge with the way Triss kept stroking him in just the way he had needed before, but now was simply becoming too much.  
  
Triss’ fingers started moving again as soon as he’d spent his last drop. An additional finger was pressed inside of him, making him feel full and stretched, and then Triss moved her fingers in all the right ways, but he couldn’t find any pleasure as his senses were simply overwhelmed from all her attentions. His body tingled, hot and prickly, and he started feeling raw as Triss continued tormenting him; bringing him to the edge again and again before forcing another release from him.  
  
The pressure and the touches that had started out feeling so wonderful had become _agony_.  
  
Triss kept on stroking and cajoling him, and Geralt’s mind drifted off as his body kept on buzzing madly from the continuous torment…   
  
“Such a good doll,” Triss crooned in a low voice after a while, rousing him from his haze.  
  
His body was shuddering with light trembles as he lay utterly spent and exhausted beneath Triss.  
  
She stroked his temple, looking pleased and content as she showed him a filled flask, shimmering with magic.  
  
_Oh…  
_  
Tilting her head, Triss grinded herself against his leg, grinning wickedly.  
  
Geralt lazily shook his head. His body felt like smouldering embers. He didn’t think he’d be able to get hard again, not even if Triss offered to give them some magical assistance.  
  
Pointing her finger at him – _stay_ – Triss quickly slid off of him and moved out of sight. Dully, Geralt heard a soft clink, and “aép Gaspar”, and a moment later Triss was back, no longer carrying the flask. Excited, she hopped back on the bed, jostling Geralt’s arms as she misjudged her balance and pressed down on his shoulders, trying to prevent herself from falling over.  
  
Geralt gasped as the pressure put his arms in an awkward angle, but he clenched his teeth and breathed through the burst of pure agony that came with stretching his shoulders beyond their limits. He didn’t say anything, though. Triss hadn’t uncuffed him yet.  
  
“Do that thing for me?” Triss breathed, shuffling up his body until she sat high on his chest. “With your tongue?”  
  
Swallowing heavily as he tried to ignore his aching limbs, Geralt eagerly lifted his head and tried to reach her, but between the trembles still wrecking his exhausted body and the awkward position he’d been forced into he was nowhere close enough to do as she asked.  
  
A low whine bubbled up from his throat, and he wanted to tell Triss to come closer… wanted to tell her just how badly he wanted to touch her. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed yet…  
  
Observing his difficulty, Triss carefully shuffled her way up until she basically sat on his face and she had to lean against the wall to make sure she didn’t suffocate him.  
  
Finally he could reach, and he couldn’t help himself as het let out a pleased hum. He loved sucking on her lips and licking into the warm moist they hid, and he carefully stroked his tongue over her clit amidst gentle kisses and even lighter sucks until she turned into a happily shivering mess atop him.  
  
He loved seeing her like that. He loved that he could give her such pleasure.  
  
She allowed him to set the pace and shifted atop him to guide his tongue wherever she liked until her legs started twitching. Leaning forward, she pushed against the wall, trying to stay in place for him to finish what he had started, and then her entire body jerked and she moaned loudly, scooting lower until she sat on his chest, getting her bearings back.  
  
She was so incredibly beautiful like this…  
  
After a while, Triss looked up and smiled sweetly at him. Then she stroked his nipple and moved up to his lips, and she carefully scooted back up to where she’d been before. “You have such a wondrous tongue, Geralt,” she sighed, gripping his hair and guiding his mouth to where she wanted it.  
  
Geralt happily started kissing and licking her anew, even as she rolled her hips, allowing him to lick even deeper. He managed to make Triss shudder and gasp with pleasure over and over again until he lost count…  
  
By the time Triss was well satisfied and a complete shivering mess on top of him, Geralt’s tongue felt raw and heavy in his mouth. He wouldn’t be able to speak even if he’d been allowed, but he felt a buzzing pride at having pleased his lover, and he felt extremely lucky and special that he was the one that got to see her like this, all soft and vulnerable.  
  
Calming down, Triss lowered herself until she lay down atop of him and lazily waved her hand, conjuring up a blanket and covering both of them with it. “You’re such a good doll,” she breathed, nuzzling his chest as she made herself comfortable.  
  
It was only when a soft snore rose up to his ears that Geralt realised she’d fallen asleep.   
  
“Thh?” He rasped, trying to call her name around his swollen tongue.  
  
No reaction.  
  
“Thh?” he tried again, as loud as his parched throat allowed.  
  
Still nothing.  
  
She must be completely exhausted.  
  
Rolling his aching shoulders, he tried to bring some feeling back to his arms and utterly failed in his attempt, only managing to awaken the burning of his overstretched muscles. His arms had grown heavy and buzzed dully and a pressure was rising in his mind… started crushing his chest…  
  
The air was _so_ thin.  
  
He couldn’t _breathe_ …  
  
_No…  
_  
“Shh…” Triss hushed him, still asleep, and placed her palm over his heart.  
  
His medallion trembled, just before a comforting warmth spread from his chest all the way to his head and limbs.  
  
Feeling calm and heavy, like he was wrapped in grounded cotton, he turned his head towards the nightstand to admire the rose he’d plucked in the ruined elven gardens.  
  
_“… just one petal…”_  
  
Why had Triss wanted to pluck a petal?  
  
_“Beautiful and sad… like this garden.”  
_  
He closed his eyes, trying to recall more of that conversation and coming up with a blank.  
  
It didn’t matter…  
  
Looking at the rose again, he smiled fondly, remembering giving it to Triss; a beautiful and special rose that would live forever and never wilt when given to a loved one.  
  
Seeing the brown edges around the petals, Geralt felt a sadness overwhelm him at the realisation that the legend of Cymoril’s rose was just another fairy tale.  
  
Turning to look at his sleeping lover, Geralt yearned to wrap her up in his arms and run his fingers through her hair, but he wasn’t going to be able to move until Triss woke and released him.  
  
Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly, focusing on the feeling of the air passing through his nose and holding in his breath for a few seconds before slowly releasing it through his mouth. Feeling his breath became his entire world. There was only the air of his breath…  
  


* * *

  
A sharp banging jostled him out of his meditation. Turning his eyes towards the window, Geralt deduced that it must be somewhere around the hour of the wolf. No self respecting citizen would come this late to the home of a sorceress and witcher. That is, not unless it was important; there had been several occasions already in which either he or Triss had been called away.  
  
“Triss,” he husked dryly, shifting a bit to get her attention.  
  
“Geralt?” A rough voice called, sounding confused and relieved at the same time. “Ah good, this is the right place. Open up, it’s me, Vesemir.”  
  
“Triss,” Geralt called more urgently, trying to jostle her awake, but he couldn’t move. “ _Vesemir_ ,” he whined pitifully before pressing his lips tightly together.  
  
The loud creaking of wood being torn apart reached Geralt’s ears before a gust of cold rushed in, and he froze, realising the door had just been blasted open.  
  
Footsteps…  
  
Triss shifted, scared awake by the noise, and before she’d even had the chance to raise herself from his chest, a familiar figure appeared before them, standing with his hands on his hips.  
  
“Vesemir?” Geralt croaked. “What-” His body seized up as he coughed, and Triss quickly slid off of him.  
  
“Geralt?” Triss’ soft voice called out, sounding worried and confused before calling out a startled “Vesemir!”   
  
“Get away from him,” Vesemir said, walking towards the bed with determined steps and holding up one of his hands, middle finger bent.  
  
“Oh, Geralt, I’m so sorry. I fell asleep!” Triss held out her hand already, reaching for the nearest cuff.  
  
“No! Get away!” Vesemir actually _growled_ , and the way he held himself reminded Geralt of a feral beast, hunching and stalking as it met its prey. The witcher’s eyes eerily reflected the candlelight, only reinforcing the impression of a dangerous predator. “Hands up where I can see them.”  
  
Triss hunched in on herself and carefully rose to her knees, struggling a bit with the blanket that had twisted itself around her waist. Vesemir tugged on the blanket to help her disentangle, but he never lowered his hackles, keeping his sharp eyes on her the entire time.  
  
“Against the wall,” Vesemir ordered, coming up around the bed and standing in front of Geralt, blocking his view of Triss.  
  
“Triss!” Geralt tried to roll off the bed to wrap his lover in his arms, to protect her… He managed some movement before his shoulders screamed bloody fire at him, and their flames threatened to drag him with them into an infernal darkness. He slumped back to the mattress, his energy spent already.  
  
The world spun dizzily around him.  
  
“ _Ves’mir_!”He slurred, trying to draw the witcher’s attention away from Triss. “Stop! Not wh-…” he couldn’t continue as his lungs seized again, and all of a sudden he was caught in a loop of agonising spasms.  
  
“Geralt!” He heard Vesemir shout, and a bright flash of purple broke through his starry vision, only a moment before a calloused hand turned his head to the side. “Geralt,” Vesemir said again, his voice much softer.  
  
“ _P-play_ ,” Geralt gasped out, wanting Vesemir to know that everything was all right.   
  
Vesemir’s brows drew down in a frown, and he looked back over his shoulder, letting out a disgusted huff. Turning back towards Geralt, the witcher’s shoulders slumped and he cupped the back of Geralt’s neck, lowering his forehead to his own as he rubbed a gentle thumb behind Geralt’s ear. A shuddering breath escaped from his mentor’s throat. “It’s gonna be all right, wolf.”  
  
Vesemir reached for the cuff shackling his left wrist to the bed post and quickly undid the latch.  
  
Geralt braced himself for the inevitable agony, and he was surprised when, instead, Vesemir carefully guided his arm into a better position; moving his numb limb slowly and gently until it lay on the mattress. Then the older witcher hurried to his other wrist and undid the second latch, carefully moving Geralt’s arm to the bed, shooting another death-glare at Triss.  
  
Already, Geralt could feel the blood rushing back into his limbs. Pins and needles crept all over his arms, growing from dull little needles to sharp pinching stabs growing worse with each breath. He wriggled a bit, trying to sit up, but somehow he just didn’t have the energy for it.  
  
“Hold out your arms,” Vesemir commanded, and Geralt’s limbs trembled as he tried to comply. “Not you, dear boy,” the witcher clarified softly, sounding apologetic. “ _Her.”  
  
_Lifting his head, Geralt saw Vesemir cautiously stalking towards Triss. The old witcher made sure to keep the both of them within his sight, rage and worry flitting on his face as he got closer to Triss.  
  
Geralt felt a gnawing at his belly as he saw his cowering lover holding out her arms, her naked body shivering as she stood within an yrden trap. “Ves-e-mir,” he tried again, “ _stop.”_ He didn’t understand why Vesemir was doing this, scaring and hurting his lover by shackling her wrists with those cuffs. Surely he knew what dimeritium did to magic users? “Hurtin’ her…” he rasped, feeling his heartbeat pounding in his chest. “ _Please…”_  
  
Immediately, Vesemir’s hand contorted like a twitching spider, and a purple glow settled over Triss, forcing her to the ground, and she started sobbing. Vesemir didn’t pay any further attention to her though. It only took him two determined steps until he stood next to Geralt, and he slowly started to lower himself onto the bed, so slow and careful that Geralt barely felt the mattress jostle beneath him.  
  
“Calm down now, Geralt,” Vesemir hushed quietly, reaching up with one hand and halting his movement when Geralt flinched. “She’s fine. A bit scared, perhaps, but unharmed. Tell him, Triss.”  
  
“I’m all right, Geralt,” Triss told him, a waver in her voice, “the yrden trap doesn’t hurt.” She was sitting against the wall, her cuffed arms thrown around her folded legs as she hugged her knees to her chest.  
  
Geralt didn’t like the black veins creeping up her wrists. “ _Cuffs_ …” he gritted out, meeting Vesemir’s eyes beseechingly.  
  
Shaking his head, Vesemir’s eyes flitted to the right, and his eyes grew hard like steel before he reached for one of Geralt’s hands and looked at him with an unnerving urgency. “Squeeze my hand.”  
  
Frowning, Geralt looked away.  
  
“None of that now, Geralt. I need to know the extent of your injuries.” He shifted and lifted his hand.  
  
Tensing, Geralt clenched his teeth, and he closed his eyes as Vesemir’s hand touched his cheek. The world grew heavy and started spinning, making him feel nauseous.  
  
“Please, Geralt.” Triss’ soft voice reached him through the high pitched squealing in his ears. “Vesemir’s right. It was careless of me to fall asleep with you still tied up, and I need to know you’re all right. I’d never forgive myself if I’d damaged you. Let Vesemir help you.”  
  
Swallowing heavily, Geralt opened his eyes and tried to look at Triss, but Vesemir was still in the way. Clenching his jaw, he looked at the witcher and nodded his head in acquiescence. He tried to obey the order he’d been given, he really did, but his arms felt like buzzing tingling sand sacks, heavy and useless.  
  
Seeing his trouble, Vesemir carefully touched one of Geralt’s hands and winced, swirling a finger up across Geralt’s arm.  
  
Looking down, Geralt saw Vesemir tracing the pattern of his blackened veins, all the way up to his elbows. It always did take a while for the effects of the cuffs to disappear, but this was the first time Geralt had seen the dark tendrils reach this far.  
  
Vesemir continued his examination, letting his hands roam over Geralt’s body, a frown marring his brow as he felt around Geralt’s shoulders and stared at his neck. “Torn ligaments. Bruises… some nasty scratches you’ve got there.” He pushed away the blanket covering his legs and hissed as he spotted the bloody scratch marks on his cock.  
  
Ah, so that was what he was feeling.  
  
Vesemir continued his examination and pulled off the clothes still trapping Geralt’s legs so he could press two fingers just beneath his ankles. Nodding, he pulled the blanket up to Geralt’s waist and crouched down beside the bed, lifting his hand and moving a finger from left to right. “Follow. Hmm. Delayed response, dilated pupils…” he murmured, reaching for his belt. “Dimeritium shock, I’m sure of it.” He pulled two small vials from his potion’s pouch; one with a liquid as clear as water, and the other with an orange liquid inside. “Swallow it all, wolf.” He moved his hand under Geralt’s neck and helped him drink before laying him back down and starting to knead his aching arms, soothing the stinging needles methodically but gentle. “Where’s your healing salve?”  
  
Geralt frowned. All their healing supplies should be in the… “Kitchen.”  
  
“Nightstand drawer,” Triss corrected him. “I put it there earlier. Just in case…”  
  
Finding the jar, Vesemir sniffed its contents before nodding to himself. “You want to put some on yourself? Can’t be all too comfortable.”  
  
Feeling tired and worn out, Geralt shook his head. “Can’t yet…”  
  
“You’re all right with me doing it?”  
  
It would be nice if his cock stopped feeling like it had been flayed. He hadn’t really noticed it until he’d seen the scratches. “Yes.”  
  
“All right.” Vesemir scooped out a decent scoop of salve and gently spread it over the marks and bruises on his neck before dipping his fingers back, picking up more salve, and lowered the blanket a bit so he could take care of Geralt’s aching cock.  
  
It already hurt less, and Geralt blinked slowly, heaving a relieved sigh. “Will you release Triss now?”  
  
Vesemir sighed and gently shook his head as he picked up the blanket, pulling it all the way up to Geralt’s shoulders and tucking it in around him, creating a nice and warm cocoon.  
  
Wait…  
  
“Triss is cold too,” Geralt said quietly, squirming unhappily, feeling a roiling in his belly.   
  
“Fine, I’ll find her something. Calm down, wolf. Do you have any more blankets?” Vesemir looked around.  
  
Nodding, Geralt looked to the right. “Closet.”  
  
It didn’t take long for Vesemir to find a blanket, and then he dispelled the yrden trap just long enough so he could hand it to Triss and help her wrap it around herself before casting the trap anew.  
  
“How did you find us?” Triss asked, leaning back against the wall, no longer crying; resigned to the situation.  
  
Geralt could feel his strength returning bit by bit as the potions did their job, but he was nowhere strong enough yet to pick any fights, and a twitch of his fingers revealed his magic to still be out of his reach. Besides, he really didn’t wish to injure Vesemir, despite what he’d done to Triss; going by his actions, and how worried he looked, Vesemir seemed to believe that Geralt was in distress and needed help.  
  
Vesemir waved his hand in dismissal. “That troubadour of yours, Geralt, has some good connections and called in a favour. He’s worried sick about you, by the way, something about disappearing into thin air and leaving him and Zoltan to paddle up a creek full of shit with only a small paddle and a leaky tub? Anyway… this guy, Reuven, told him you two were here.”  
  
Geralt frowned. “Dandelion’s here?”  
  
Vesemir nodded. “It was him that told me you were here, in fact. I had no idea. Last I heard you were in Vizima, playing bodyguard to Foltest. We’ve a lot of catching up to do…”  
  
_The dragon. The solar. The monk. The dungeon.  
  
“I’d make for a bad bodyguard, Sire.”  
  
“How is that?”  
  
_Struggling to loosen the blanket, Geralt curled up on his side and grabbed his temples.  
  
_“… just one petal…”_  
  
_“Beautiful…”  
_  
“Geralt?”  
  
He flinched as a hand touched his shoulder and threw up his hand to form quen. His heart beat loudly in his chest and sweat broke out on his brow… his shield refused to form. Panting, he threw himself off the bed, scratching at the wall as he tried to get his feet under him and reach his swords.  
  
“What have you done to him?” A low voice growled.  
  
Footsteps, coming closer. He had to hurry.  
  
“I have no idea what’s going on, Vesemir. Let me go and take off these cuffs, I can help!”  
  
The wall. Too slippery. He couldn’t hold on…  
  
“I think you have done enough damage.”  
  
All of a sudden, Geralt found himself lifted and trapped by two armour-clad arms, and he was held firmly against a broad chest. He turned his head to the side to ease the strain on his neck, and the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon made his nose twitch. He started taking deeper breaths, calming down and feeling safe now.  
  
“It’s gonna be all right, Geralt. Shh…”  
  
He became vaguely aware that he was whimpering, but he couldn’t stop himself. Burying his face as deep as he could against Vesemir’s neck, he closed his eyes and tried to _feel_ the scent… to wrap it around himself and soak up every bit.  
  
_Lambert rolled his eyes, but held out his hand to him, allowing himself to be swept across the flagstones; his pretty dress billowing as they swirled around the great hall.  
_  
The arms pulled him closer, and Geralt slumped limply in their grip; completely spent.  
  
His head hurt.  
  
“Vesemir?” Triss’ voice.  
  
“That’s a very interesting rose you have on your nightstand.” Vesemir was moving him, lowering his body onto something soft.  
  
Something warm and heavy was tucked around him. A touch lingered on his brow.  
  
“It was a gift.”  
  
“And a powerful psychoactive agent, but I’m sure you know that.”  
  
“Yes…” Triss’ voice sounded so small.  
  
“Child, what have you done? Back at Kaer Morhen… I remember wanting to tell him, but every time I saw him it just slipped from my mind.”  
  
“I-“  
  
“Before you try to spew any lies at me: Dandelion told me that Geralt remembers Yennefer. That he knows about Ciri. It’s odd then, don’t you think? That he’s not even looking for them?”  
  
“You know Ciri’s like a little sister to me, and Yennefer’s my best friend. I would do anything to get them back.”  
  
Geralt shifted, wanting to see what was going on, but his eyes refused to open. A rough hand slipped to the back of his neck and squeezed gently, and Geralt stilled at the comforting gesture.  
  
_“What made you do it, Geralt? Why… why me?”  
  
“Don’t you know?”  
  
“I’m your destiny? Say it! I’m your destiny?!”  
  
“You’re more than that, Ciri. More than that.”  
  
_“Cciri… Yennn,” he slurred, feeling his mind getting swept away by dizzying eddies full of daggers.  
  
“He’s getting worse. By the gods, if you care about him: _help me_.”  
  
“This isn’t supposed to happen!”  
  
_Triss…  
  
_“Well, it is!” Vesemir snapped. “The spell’s failing, Triss. _Look_ at the rose. Can’t you see it wilting? Destiny’s fighting back.”  
  
“But I love him!”  
  
_Don’t cry…  
  
_“Then set him _free_. Look-”  
  
_I love you.  
  
_Spinning darkness.  
  
_A plump ragdoll sat in a frilly dress, rumpled by excessive hugging. Its button-eyes stared back at him.  
  
She’d left her dolly. How was she going to be able to sleep?  
_  
“Geralt? Geralt!”  
  
He noticed a soft light even through his closed lids, and the dizzying eddies calmed down, even as he rose up, defying gravity. He felt incredibly small and vulnerable. Voices were speaking around him, but he didn’t pay them any attention. The familiar smells of vanilla and cinnamon were faint, interwoven with leather and oil and something else. Soothing smells, _safe_ smells, and he started gently drifting as he listened to the slow beat drumming beneath his ear.  
  
He must have fallen asleep, for when he next opened his eyes it was brighter outside and he could hear the hustle and bustle of the people puttering around.  
  
“How are you feeling, wolf?” A familiar voice asked, and he turned his head, seeing Vesemir sitting in a chair next to the bed.  
  
Geralt considered the question, flexing his fingers and limbs before slowly sitting up. He fought through the rush of dizziness and breathed in deeper, until he sat upright. “A bit dizzy… sore.” He swallowed dryly. There was an odd taste on his tongue. A dry fuzziness. “Mouth tastes funny.”  
  
“Here.” Vesemir handed him a mug and he drank heartily, pleased at the fresh taste of the water.  
  
Something niggled at his memory. “Why are you here? How did you find me?”  
  
Vesemir shook his head and stood up, only to come sit next to him on the bed and carefully grab his chin, looking him in the eyes.  
  
“I’ll let Dandelion give the explanations – _later._ Humour and old man, wolf, and tell me what you remember?”  
  
Frowning, Geralt stared into Vesemir’s eyes. The old witcher’s eyes were bloodshot and watery, and he looked like he hadn’t slept for a week. A quiet sob came from the kitchen, and Geralt’s body froze before he pushed the blanket away and tried get up. “Triss?”  
  
He would have fallen to the floor if Vesemir hadn’t been there, catching him and holding on until he’d gotten his bearings. “She’s fine, wolf. You can see her in a moment. Take your time…”  
  
It took a while for him to realise that he was naked, and he looked around, finding his clothes on the small table beside the bed.  
  
Odd. Triss’ rose was gone. She _loved_ that flower.   
  
Picking up his braies, he was glad when Vesemir stepped in and offered his stable presence, and he frowned as he tucked himself in, expecting to feel raw and chafed and instead feeling just a bit strung out.  
  
“Geralt? What do you remember?”  
  
_He cut the slyzard down with one final blow before rushing to his fellow witcher; a giant of a man, bleeding from a large gash where the monster’s tail had sliced him open. Only white raffard would be able to save this man.  
  
The blind monk removed the cloth covering his eyes.  
  
**Letho** …  
  
The scent of apples.  
  
Yennefer, being taken by the Hunt.  
  
He traded places with her, offering to ride with the Red Riders. His life, in exchange for hers.  
  
Letho took her unconscious body in his arms with a gentleness nearly belying his great figure.  
  
“I’ll take care of her, wolf. Make sure she’s safe. You have my word.”  
  
_A hand on the back of his neck squeezed gently, drawing him back to the present and he _looked_ at Vesemir and pulled his father close to him, burying his face against his shoulder as he held on tight.  
  
_“I know everything. Ask me.”  
  
_“I remember… _everything_. Yen’s alive, Vesemir. She’s alive! I must find her!”  
  
“I know where to look,” Vesemir told him, pulling a folded piece of paper from his potions satchel. “She must wait for a bit longer, though. We need to pick up Dandelion from the inn and deal with Triss first. Here, this is for you. Received it from a confused raven while out on the path. It really does smell of lilac and gooseberries.”  
  
_Deal with Triss, indeed._ Geralt didn’t like the way that his belly felt full with wriggling and gnawing maggots, nor the goosebumps that broke out all over his skin as he remembered _all_ that had happened. He loved her, and that confused the hell out of him, because he loved Yennefer and had always rejected Triss’ advances as gentle as he could.  
  
Triss was so young still, looking for true love, but for some reason she’d clamped onto him.  
  
Clenching his jaw, he tried to ignore Triss’ quiet sniffles and brought the letter up to his nose. Closing his eyes, he could see raven locks and violet eyes shining with love. He saw her face so clearly now, how had he ever been able to forget her?  
  
He touched the wax that Vesemir had carefully pried away from one end, leaving the image of the raven on the seal intact.  
  
_Dear friend,  
  
Forgive me for not asking about your health or how you have been these last years. Time is very short.  
  
I have important news. We must meet, and soon. Ride to Willoughby, near Vizima, and don't spare the horses - while I do eagerly await our reunion, I won't be able to wait, eagerly or otherwise, very long.  
  
Your dear friend,  
  
Yennefer.  
  
P.S. I still have the unicorn.  
  
_“Prepare for a long journey,” Vesemir said, holding up Geralt’s trousers and tunic, pointing out his still near naked state. “I already packed some provisions. We can get some special treats at the inn when we pick up Dandelion.”  
  
Geralt quickly pulled on his clothes, tucking Yennefer’s letter away in his pocket. “Triss could…” She could what? Create a portal? Help them? Besides the fact that he hated portals, Triss wasn’t powerful enough to create one for the four of them. As for helping them…  
  
His heart said that he loved her, like a dear friend or a sibling.  
  
But his hands grew clammy and cold at the idea of having to _trust_ her.  
  
“She’ll be handed off to the authorities here in Pont Vanis.” Vesemir drew him in for a one-armed hug and sighed deeply. “You want me to do it?”  
  
“No. I… It’s… ” Giving up on what he was trying to say, not even having figured it out himself, he steeled himself and walked into the kitchen, shivering as a cold gust of air blew in his face. His boots were where he expected them to be, right next to the door, but the door – while it had been propped haphazardly back in place – had been torn off its hinges, and several planks had come loose.   
  
“I’m so sorry, Geralt,” Triss muttered quietly. “I never meant to hurt you.”  
  
His skin prickled as he picked up his boots, but he breathed in and dared to look at her.  
  
She wore a simple green dress with no sleeves, and her shoulders were bare except for the half-cloak she wore, giving her arms and chest some protection from the cold. She pulled the material close to her chest, shivering, as he looked at her. Her wrists were cuffed with dimeritium shackles. Her eyes were bloodshot, and tear tracks had dried up on her cheeks. She looked small and vulnerable, but to his surprise, Geralt didn’t feel an urge to soothe her.  
  
Looking at Triss, something in him just… _broke…_ and it was like he was looking through a glass window, separating one world from another. He remembered feeling so warm as she touched him… this feeling he had come to associate with an overwhelming love reaching out through his entire body, making him want to do _anything_ for her.  
  
But there was nothing now.  
  
“I believe you.” He did believe her, in fact. For a moment, he had wanted to ask her why she’d chosen him, but he stopped himself. The truth would be a painful mistress.  
  
_She’ll never leave your thoughts or your mind if you don’t ask her now. Lies are like an infected ulcer, dear friend, and in order to reveal the truth, one needs to undergo a debridement of the necrotic tissue, until only the healthy parts remain. If the ulcer is left on its own, its festering will only grow worse until-  
  
_“Why me?” He asked, interrupting Regis’ lecture. Debridement versus amputation or death. He got the point. He remembered.  
  
His lips twitched wryly.  
  
“I… I didn’t mean… I mean. What you had with Yennefer… I wanted to know what it was like. Not the fighting, but your passion. And then I met you and you were nothing like the witchers in the stories. You _feel_ so much, Geralt, and I was intrigued…”  
  
Geralt cringed. “So it wasn’t because you _loved_ _me_?” His brow started aching as he tried to recall her saying she loved him, but he couldn’t remember one single instance.  
_  
“I love this so much…”  
  
“Thank you…”  
  
“You’re such a doll…”  
  
_Triss ducked her head and looked away, a blush on her cheeks.  
  
Shaking his head, he turned away from Triss and went to the bags that Vesemir had prepared. One bag was full of food, while another, with his cloak lying on top of it, contained some changes of clothes and his coin pouch. He recognised his potions satchel and quickly browsed through it, pleased to see that Vesemir had separated the ingredients from the potions; wrapping them in different cloths just the way he liked. Good, that meant he’d only needed to put on his armour and swords…  
  
His Kaer Morhen armour was in excellent condition, the holes mended expertly, and the sun flickered off the chain mail as he put it on.  
  
Vesemir squeezed his shoulder and pressed his forehead against his own. “Are you ready, Geralt?”  
  
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Taking in a deep breath, he bumped Vesemir’s forehead gently. Then he stepped back, picked up his bags, and walked towards the door with determined steps, all the while imagining the house floating away in little flakes as he exhaled.  
  
Yennefer was _alive_ and had found a way to contact him.  
  
He wondered if she’d been with Letho and his fellow vipers all this time, but that seemed unlikely; there had been no sign of her when he’d been chasing the kingslayer. Where had she been? How had she found him? Why hadn’t she come herself, but sent a raven? Why did it mistake Vesemir for him? Why, why, why… he had so many questions.  
  
“What will happen to me?” Triss’ wavering voice came up from behind him.  
  
First things first.  
  
Deal with Triss.  
  
Pick up Dandelion.  
  
Find Yennefer.  
  
“This way, Vesemir. I know just where to go…”  
  
The snow-doll the children had made the day before was sagging miserably in the weak morning sun; the thaw had already started. Good, that would make their travel easier.  
  
When they entered the market square Geralt saw the people merrily flitting around the Brídeóg, which had been clothed in a white cotton dress. Already, young girls were running up to the doll-like figure, calming down as they then reverently placed a bracelet or a necklace over its limbs and neck.  
  
Ignoring the people, Geralt hurriedly led Vesemir to their first stop.  
  
He felt nothing as they handed Triss over to the authorities after explaining the charges.  
  
He felt nothing as Triss admitted to what she had done and was led away.  
  
He felt nothing as he silently followed a grim Vesemir to the inn and saw Dandelion sitting at the bar.  
  
Nothing, until his friend spotted him and ran towards him, only to grab him in a crushing hug.  
  
A soft and gentle feeling swirled inside his chest as Dandelion held on even tighter, refusing to let go.  
  
“Geralt! Do you have any idea how worried I was? You didn’t exactly look your best when you and Triss told us you were leaving. Oh, I’m so glad to see you! How are you feeling? You look a bit pale. Come and sit with me, dear friend. Have an ale, have some stew. Or suckling pig, even better. I’ve seen the cook glaze it with honey before and _hmm_ …”  
  
“Can’t stay. Got a letter from Yen,” Geralt managed to gasp out. He _was_ hungry, but he could eat later, when they were on the road.  
  
A gurgle rose up from his belly, and he looked to the far wall, feeling a heat rising to his cheeks.  
  
Dandelion tightened his embrace and shook his head before finally letting go of his kayran hold. He kept a hand on him as he stepped away, though, and nodded towards a free table. “Geralt, listen to me. I know you must be worried about Yennefer, but we’re in for a long journey, and from the sounds of it you need a good meal. Hell, _I_ would like one last good meal before we head out. So, can we, please? Have lunch here? You look like you’re going to fall over from a gust of wind, to tell you the truth. Vesemir, what have-…” Wincing, he looked over his shoulder and caught the eye of a waitress.  
  
Sighing, Geralt sat down and put his bags on the floor underneath their table. Dandelion was right, but that didn’t lessen the sense of urgency that was tugging at his heart. “I’ll need a horse.” He loosened his swords harnesses and propped his weapons up against the table, within easy reach.  
  
Dandelion grinned and sat on the opposite side of the table. “I had a feeling you would, so I’ve been scouting around while Vesemir came to get you. There is one mare up for sale in the stables, and the owner’s willing to let her go for a fairly decent price, at least – after a little bit of negotiating.” The bard grinned, wriggling his eyebrow suggestively. “As soon as we’re done here we can go and get your new Roach.”  
  
Vesemir sat down beside Geralt, propping his own pair of swords against the table and leaning over with a sigh.  
  
“What can I get you?” The waitress stood with her hand held to her hip as she sized them up. “Food? Drink?”  
  
“Both,” Dandelion said determinedly, “Heribert and I were just speaking about that suckling pig that is nearly done. My mouth was already watering at the smells coming from the kitchen, so I’ll have that and the parsnips and onions buttered in garlic. Oh, and ale!”  
  
“What else you got? Stew, perhaps?” Vesemir gave the waitress a polite smile.  
  
“We’re serving bigos today, and also cream-poached halibut with vegetables, and pea and parsnip soup served in a bread-roll.”  
  
“I’ll go for bigos then, and an ale,” Vesemir replied. “Are you serving bread and cheese for on the side?”  
  
“We sure do!” The waitress turned towards Geralt.  
  
“Same as my friend,” he nodded towards Dandelion, “but a mug of goat milk, no ale.”  
  
“All right, I’ll bring up your order once it’s ready.”  
  
Vesemir bumped his leg. “Did you hear about the new edicts decreed at the peace summit in Loc Muinne?”  
  
Geralt frowned as he tried to dredge through his memories. “Triss mentioned that members of the Lodge of Sorceresses have been installed at royal courts. With Foltest’s death, Stennis, Henselt and Radovid have been fighting over the rulership of Temeria. Meanwhile, the Temerian nobility refuses to accept a non-Temerian rules. The Lodge is involved in selecting the right ruler, but up till now Temeria is still without a king.”  
  
“All correct.” Dandelion nodded. “And rumour has it lately that-”  
  
“Not here,” Vesemir interrupted, leaning forward and pointing towards the waitress who was coming back with their drinks. Once she had left again Vesemir turned towards Geralt. “Later, once we’re well out of the city. It’ll take us at least a week to reach White Orchard; there’ll be plenty enough time to catch up on the happenings in Temeria and Redania once we’re on the road.”  
  
Glancing towards Dandelion’s left, towards the empty seat there, something suddenly niggled at Geralt’s mind. “Where’s Zoltan? Is he all right?” He would never forgive himself if something had happened to his friend because he and Triss had left them behind in Flotsam.  
  
“He’s fine, Geralt. Just fine. Guarding the Rosemary and Thyme, as a matter of fact.” Dandelion started grinning from ear to ear.  
  
Geralt threw up his hand. “Wait. Isn’t that a _brothel_ in Novigrad?”  
  
Dandelion tilted his head and looked at him thoughtfully before a hopeful gleam appeared in his eyes. “Has more of your memory returned?”  
  
“All of it, in fact.”  
  
“So you remember about what happened with…” Dandelion lowered his voice to a whisper and visibly tried to calm his excitement. “… what happened with the Wild Hunt!?”  
  
Geralt froze.  
_  
A floating ship in the sky.  
  
Screams.  
  
Caranthir laughing…  
  
_“I remember everything.” Geralt pressed his thigh against Vesemir’s and leaned a bit towards him as he fiddled around with his mug.  
  
Vesemir pressed back and gave a comforting squeeze. “You’re back with us now.”  
  
“But if you ever need to talk?” Dandelion offered, shooting him a wry smile. “I’m here for you.”  
  
“And me,” Vesemir chimed in.  
  
Geralt nodded and took a deep breath, and then another as he pushed the memories away. He needed a distraction. “So, what’s this about Zoltan guarding a whorehouse?”  
  
Dandelion, going along with him, shared one quick glance with Vesemir before settling into his story-telling mode, just as their food arrived, gesturing lively with his hands as if he was on stage. He told the story of how he’d ended up inheriting the Rosemary and Thyme from one Alonso Wiley – a true patron of the arts, if Dandelion did say so himself – and of his plans to renovate the place and transform it into a cabaret.  
  
Dandelion also told him that Shani had returned to Oxenfurt, and Geralt didn’t miss the way that Vesemir’s lips twitched with a smile and his gaze grew distant for a bit.   
  
Geralt listened as his friend spun tales, and by the time they’d finished with their meal and were heading for the stables Dandelion insisted on a small detour to leave his own offering to the Brídeóg – for good luck. ‘When in Kovir’, and all that…  
  
How a deity bringing back light and spring into the world would bring luck was a mystery to Geralt, but Dandelion seemed to be in a _mood_ so he waited as patiently as he could until Dandelion skipped back towards them.  
  
If it had been different times Geralt would have offered to stay for just one day longer so they could partake in the festival, but every moment they tarried would just make it more difficult to meet up with Yennefer. As she’d explained in her letter, she couldn’t wait for very long.  
  
He’d find her, and he’d find Ciri too, if it was the last thing he did. And once their little family was whole again he would happily make merry and celebrate every festival of the year with them.  
  
He would celebrate each day.  
  
**The end**

**Author's Note:**

>  **(1)** Several lines are borrowed directly from the games and the books, if you’re familiar with them, perhaps you’ll recognise them?  
>  **(2)** The decision to leave and not chase the kingslayer means that a lot of the events in the second game didn’t happen. Most prominently, Geralt didn’t fight in the Battle of Spectres and thus didn’t experience the magnetic field that brought back all his memories (he had regained a few at this time though). So he only remembered a few things of his past.  
>  **(3)** So many bad BDSM/kink practices going on here it just isn’t funny. I’m sorry, Geralt, for what I made you go through… @_@ (ps: I know in the game they use regular cuffs, not dimeritium ones, but the plot bat arose on ‘what if Triss really wanted to make sure Geralt couldn’t use magic?’ – and yeah – the thought stuck).  
>  **(4)** On Triss: after reading a passage in Blood of Elves and going through the events in Witcher 1 and 2 I seriously don’t like her anymore. She didn't tell Geralt about Yennefer and Ciri (to be fair, none of the others reminded him either), slept with an amnesiac witcher (read: raped) while she knew he'd rejected her advances time and time again, tried to create a family with him with Alvin and she emotionally manipulates him, playing at being all soft and sweet and innocent while getting him to do exactly what she wants.
> 
> Here’s a passage from the book Blood of Elves, showing Triss' thoughts:  
>  _"… she had seduced the witcher - with the help of a little magic. She had hit on a propitious moment, a moment when he and Yennefer had scratched each other's eyes yet again and had abruptly parted. Geralt had needed warmth, and had wanted to forget._  
>  _No, Triss had not desired to take him away from Yennefer. As a matter of fact, her friend was more important to her than he was. But her brief relationship with the witcher had not disappointed. She had found what she was looking for – emotions in the form of guilt, anxiety and pain. His pain. She had experienced his emotions, it had excited her and, when they parted, she had been unable to forget it."_
> 
> If you take the Scoia’tael path in Witcher 2 you know what can be done with Cymoril’s rose of remembrance – one petal can brainwash even a dragon and made Saskia completely besotted with Philippa; so much so, that she did anything Philippa said. With Triss keeping secrets the way she had, and her infatuation with Geralt I fear that she _was_ going to use the rose on Geralt. What happens after… who can say? This story here is one version of what could have happened.
> 
> One other interesting thing in this game: if Geralt does _not_ suggest that Triss takes a bath then he gains a ‘Resistance to Magic’ attribute. Combined with the info above I go with the idea that Triss is in the habit of magically nudging him to do what she wants. If the rumour about her and Lambert is true, I think she also used magic on him, but – once Geralt was back – Lambert’s mind was left alone and he had a chance to recover, making him behave antagonistically towards Triss and distancing himself by only calling her Merigold.
> 
> So yeah… that’s my take… if you read this story – I hope you liked it!


End file.
